


Circus Act

by Iron



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Firelords are assholes, Gen, I don't mean to keep doing this, I swear, It just kind of happens, OC's up the wazoo, Sociopathic character is no longer sociopathic, There's a circus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron/pseuds/Iron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One hundred years ago, when the world needed him most, the Avatar vanished. </p>
<p>Ninety-six years ago after that, the Prince and Princess of the Fire Nation disappeared on a family trip to Ember Island, the victims of a seemingly brutal kidnapping.</p>
<p>Their bodies are never recovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Circus Act  
   
\--  
   
   
   
The air was hot and heavy in the actor’s tent, drying his throat with each intake of breath. His mask hung heavy on his face. The makeup covering the bit of his exposed neck had dried, sucking the moisture from the skin beneath and around it in hope of hydrating.  
   
Yasu stood over the seething crowd of people, carefully balanced on one of the five tightropes that criss-crossed the tent. He danced on the cord, slow and careful for the lack of safety net, the movement of his twin swords deadly at his sides. They were kept sharp for stage effect, of course, and because nothing at their circus should be seen as an illusion unless absolutely necessary.  
   
In full view of the audience on the ground, his sister’s daggers danced a shadow of his own, full-faced red mask leering at their crowd. The Narrator was speaking, telling the story of the star-cross lovers Yue and Tsan Du. His voice held the melodious accent of the most southern Fire Nation islands, and accompanied by the floating notes of a pipeflute it sounded almost like he was singing.  
   
A pause – his cue. Slipping across the rope, it was a simple drop and roll to the packed-dirt ground, coming up in a storm of fire. He moved as if in a ballet, a deadly dance, gesturing to the red mask of his sister’s face to follow him. She moved like the dragon Raijin, all cold, seething fury, roiling just below her skin and with every move she made. Her black smile echoed his white, and they moved across the stage together.  
   
This was the part of their play where the twin spirits were introduced to the audience. The dance began in the shadows, the two of them moving like they were fighting against each other, highlighted by swirls of fire and the glint of their shined weapons, until they gradually moved into what actually looked like dancing, fire working together. Their blades sang as they slid along each other, sparks and flame rising up around them, flying, flashing, casting their masks into strange, alien shapes.  
   
Together, they turned towards the hushed people in the stands, and with a twist of their bodies, were consumed by their own fire.  
   
It was all for show, of course. They slipped behind and under the props for the village settings. They wouldn’t actually leave the stage during the performance, but not being in sight combined with flash would give the illusion of it.  
   
They were happy. Yasu never asked his sister, but he didn’t need to. He knew, just as he did many things, that she was happy like this.  
   
\--  
   
   
Mina called Minori over to the camp stove, where she was gently stirring a stew. “Ah want yah tah go an’ make some o’th’t bread ah taught ya’s last week.” Her smile was a touch too wide, pulled up at one corner into a permanent sneer by a knotted, white scar. Most of her teeth were missing, but those that weren’t were a healthy, pale yellow. She had a face that might once have been beautiful, but age and a hard life had turned it into something tired, worn down and ragged at the edges.  
   
The young girl dropped her kata, wiped the sweat that was dripping from her brow and trotted over to the woman. It had taken the troop members a long time and more effort than it was really worth to teach her that orders were not the same as requests. She followed both, now, and rarely turned them to her own means. “Yes?” She asked. “I need to get back to practicing.”  
   
There was impatience in her voice, but then four months ago she would have ignored the woman entirely. “It won’t take lon’, sweetie,” Mina said. “Jus’a momen’.” She motioned to her again, and Minori dragged herself reluctantly to her side. “Here, tastes this,” she said, and held a heavy spoonful of soup up to the girl’s lips.  
   
She could smell the spice from where it hovered under her nose. Taking it, she sipped it carefully, and reveled in the way it burned her mouth, the back of her throat, seeped the cracks in her lips. A smile spread across her face. “It’s … okay.” She said. Mina beamed.  
   
“Made it ‘specially fer yah, sweetie. Saw’s how’s yah lahk yer food ‘specially hot, ‘n yah’ve been work’n so hard lately ah thought ah would treat ya.” The smile on her face grew a touch wider. “Now’s why don’cha go an’ finish yer practice, now? Yer brother should be ‘round from his swords soon.” And the woman patted her head and sent her on her way.  
   
The smile didn’t fade from her face until long passed dinner.  
   
   
\--  
   
   
   
The day that Yasu celebrated his twelfth birthday, every village and city and town and colony in the Fire Nation was cloaked in white.  
   
It was a day of mourning, for most.  
   
He sat by his sister in the middle of a city, hat pulled low over his face, and split a sweet bun with her.  
   
No one spared a glance at them.  
   
\--  
   
   
The circus was named the Dancing Lily Flower Circus, after something-or-other, though no one knew exactly what. It was a good place, as anyone who had ever worked there would tell you. They treated the animals nice, their games were fair enough, the acts were more talented than most. They had the addition of a small amount of plays, and that made them stand out in the fray. They were popular.  
   
And they were not often in the habit of taking in strays, children or not.  
   
The two children, no older than ten, introduced themselves as the twins Yasu and Minori. They told Fou, one of the circus’s well-meaning drunks that they were looking for someone to travel with as they dragged his still-drunk body back to their camp. Why the man couldn’t get drunk in camp was anyone’s guess, but he couldn’t, and so the two kids had assisted him home from the village tavern, beaming and chatty and sweet the entire time.  
   
It was several hours later that anyone realized the two had robbed them blind.  
   
\--  
   
   
Yasu and Minori ran through the forest, high pitched laughter echoing through the trees. On their backs hung heavy, black packs, matched by the fine if worn black robes; their faces were masked by matching red-and-black and blue-and-white masks, grinning gaunt faces staring out against the world.  
   
The girl’s black as crows wing hair streamed behind her, matched in slightly shorter length by her brother’s. They did not know this forest, not having been there long, but that was no matter. They’d tricked people often enough.  
   
Slipping into the space between two trees that had become their temporary home, they slung the packs from their backs and onto the leaf strewn ground.  
   
Their camp was simply a space between the roots of two ancient trees, large enough for the two of the them if they curled up together, concealed by thick, tall bushes where the roots didn’t. Over the top, balance between the almost wall-like roots, was a roof of broken branches and leaves. Inside, it was dark and cool, lit only by the flames cradled carefully in their palms.  
   
It was Minori who dug into her loot first. “This place is better than the last one,” she said, sifting through their get. “Mostly junk, though. I think we might have to head to one of the cities, soon.” She slipped her mask off and set it next to her, uncaring gold-coin eyes dark in the shade of their hollow.  
   
“I hate this!” Yasu hissed, his own mask clattering down beside hers. The boy was always so dramatic. “Stealing from people, running away, tricking them, it’s all wrong!” Smoke curled from his nostrils, and flame licked from behind his teeth. It was clear that their way of life bothered her brother.  
   
“Would you rather we went and joined the circus?”  She hissed.  
   
“Yes! Yes I would! At least then we wouldn’t be stealing!” He hissed, almost shouted, back. He dumped the contents of his pack on the floor, the jingle of coins and the clack and ring of stolen goods sounding as they hit the dirt. He was a better thief than his sister, and it showed. His hands might not have been quicker, but he had the better eye for what should be taken and what should not.  
   
“Then why don’t we go back and I can show you how bad of an idea that is!”    
   
“Fine!”  
   
“Fine!”  
   
And that was how the twins Yasu and Minori found themselves to be part of the Dancing Fire Lily Circus - after returning what they'd stolen to them.   
   
\--  
   
   
It was Yasu who came up with the thing with the komodorhinos, not that either of them would admit to it afterwards. Or that they necessarily got caught, despite the entire camp knowing the only two people to have the gall to do something like that.  
   
The story left camp by way of the local tavern.  
   
And thus the legend of the komodorhino riding a unicycle across a tightrope while wearing a dress was let out into the world.  
   
No mind that in the actual story the line wasn’t a foot off the ground and the rhino wasn’t doing much more than walking; it made a good tale.  
   
   
\--  
   
   
It was Shou who first taught Yasu to use his double dao swords. He’d shown skill in acrobatics of course, light footed and flexible, as comfortable on the tightrope as he was on the ground after only a few months, but one needed more skills than that to be a part of the Fire Lilly circus.  
   
Shou was a jack-of-all-trades, travelling with the Fire Lily to have people to travel with, and he paid his dues in attracting crowds to his sword dancing shows. When the Ringmaster asked him as a favor to teach the wild boy from the forest, Shou could find no other reason to refuse other than ‘he’s a brat’. And that was really no reason at all.  
   
He really wasn’t so bad, once you got to know him. The kid had a temper, and he stuck his foot in his mouth just about as much as he opened it, and he couldn’t make a good pot of tea if his life depended on it, but he wasn’t a complete loss. Good with swords, at least, and he listened once you beat the need to into him.  
   
And the kid was smart, once he had to be. Not quite clever, but he knew what to do with the things once he’d been taught, and whatever he lacked in natural skill he made up for in determination. Too much, in some cases, but it was good for him. Better than his sister, though even she was learning.  
   
The boy looked at him for direction, sweat-soaked hair hanging in his eyes. “Too slow. Do it again.” He watched as the kid twitched, made an aborted run at him before taking the first stance again. He did it perfectly, but Shou thought he could do with repeating the move. Discipline could only be learned one way after all.  
   
He watched the boy move, going through each movement again and again, until each was the same as the last. The kid was good, but it took more than technique to make a swordsman. It was the mark of a true Master that took another’s movements and made them their own, and the kid would never get it if he stayed like that– and then the swordsman watched as the moves turned from shadows of his own into something serpentine, smooth, like lava over rocks, and smiled.  
   
“Good,” he said. The teen looked up at him, surprised, and then promptly tripped over his own feet. He scrambled to his feet, swords scraping on the stony ground, and took the stance again. His arms were shaking to the point that he could barely keep hold of the instruments, his eyes hazy and unfocussed. Still, he stood tall. “That’s enough for today, kid.”  
   
And he looked at Shou, so longingly, so brokenly, like he thought he did something wrong and now Shou was kicking him out, telling him to never come back. It made him wonder for a moment if someone had; the kid was a runaway, right? “…You’re a real once-in-a-lifetime, y’know? Think you’re gonna go far, kid.”  
   
The kid looked at him, shoulders hunched and head bowed. “Thanks.”  
   
The air grew awkward between them quickly, because Shou had been on his own too long to remember social niceties like conversation and the kid had never learned how. “Better go get some dinner in you, kid.”  
   
And the boy walked off, looking no better than before Shou’s attempt at comfort.  
   
   
\--  
   
   
It was hard to say when Minori started lying – for a long time, as long as Yasu had been Yasu, she’d lied. Sometimes, it was like she didn’t even notice it. The words would come out and they wouldn’t be the truth, even when it was as simple a question as ‘What do you want for dinner?’, and then she’d deny it when he called her out on it, when they both knew she was lying.  
   
She never lied to him, not anymore. Not after it almost got him killed by a couple of thugs in the back alley of some no name town, over some stupid thing she hadn’t thought would matter at the time. It had, though. It always did.  
   
Denaeri was the first person that she didn’t lie to. She hadn’t told the truth, either, but she hadn’t lied. The woman had asked where the rake was, and she had shrugged, and smiled, and said, “Ask Su-Su.”  
   
A none-answer was better than a lie, when it came to Minori.  
   
That took her three months and four hundred-sixty-eight lies.  
   
Her brother had never been happier.


	2. Children of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are the children of dragons

He's shaking. Afraid and in pain, the world gone grey around him.

He can't feel most of the left side of his face, and what he could he wishes he didn't - it hurt so much he could barely breathe, bile rising in back of his throat even under the blank haze of their stolen pain medication - but it was alright. Fine. Okay. Any word he could think to give it.

They were good. Moving, always moving, spending a night in one place - never in a village, rarely in a town, forever anonymous, invisible, dust in the wind that screams for long dead initiates - even when the throes of fever overtook him and it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

Sister (sister-dear, gold coin eyes lit by fire a doll, so pretty) is holding him close. the rain sounds like pebbles falling on stone, too many for the Fire Nation, where are all the Earth benders coming from?

He wants to ask where they are but the words won't come out. His teeth are broken glass and his tongue is cut to pieces, blood-vomit-spit dribbling cold down his chin.

He can't remember his name. Sister mumbles "Yasu Yasu" in his ear and he latches on, sinks black black claws into the idea, coils around it tight, won't ever let it go.

Her fingers are cold against his forehead, lines of ice as the world burns up around him (he set the fires and watches it burn in kaleidoscope).

She is not the center of his world.

She is its (his?) entirety.

\- - 

She smiles  
at the flames  
( _they would be blue_ , her eyes scream  
 _if the world was_  
fair)  
( **It isn't** )  
There is  
a knife  
up her sleeve  
and two in her  
hair  
like ornaments  
(so pretty, the stupid birds  
croon  
pet her hair  
S **O** P **_R E T_ T **Y)  
She smiles  
and  
laughs  
preening under their attention  
( _in her head_  
she imagines  
setting them on fire  
and watching them burn)  
And after  
she goes to  
the home  
(alley)  
she and her brother  
share  
(She's afraid one day  
she'll come back  
and the _fever_  
and the **burns**  
will have -)  
(She will  
 _never_  
 _be **clean**_  
again).

\- - 

Three flat sea shells, the color of plums.

_He holds it to his ear, and imagines he can hear the laughter that was on the beach the day they'd collected them. He can't even hear the ocean, like that day never existed at all._

Two matching hair ornaments, for topknots not often worn.

_Double pronged flames of brass, shined to a glow. Under the smell of polish and metal is the almost unfamiliar scent of lavender oil, so faint he thinks it might only be in his head. They hadn't worn them often enough to leave something like that lingering._

One lotus tile, paint worn and chipped nearly gone.

_His fingers ghost over the edges just like Uncle, delicate and thinking and smart. Just like he remembers, one-two-three years gone, fighting and then not fighting._

This is him, her, them. What is left of their tattered past, the proof that they are more than what they seem. Ragged and starved, monkeys in front of a crowd, swords instead of fire, half blind or eyes opened too far, they will not forget who they were.

Even if, day by day, he forgets what that means. If he ever truly knew at all.

_ _

There weren't many things in this world that bothered Shi. There couldn't be - normal, or even abnormal, fears could ruin his show.

A ringleader could not be afraid of the acts done by his performers, after all. Even a moments hesitance could lose him the audience's attention.

So to say he was afraid of his two new charges would be a lie. They greatly unnerved him, yes, and at times he found himself wondering if the two were truly as harmless as they said (he did not question their identities. No one who joined to circus used their real names) though he could not if asked pin point why.

He watched them now, eyes narrows in contemplation. Neither was doing anything particularly suspicious - Yasu was practicing with his swords, while his sister was going through cold katas- but they had caught his attention none the less. Something was simply /wrong/, and if he could definitively say why then at least he could have some damn /peace/!

Looking up as Shou settled in beside him on the tent stands, he nodded in greeting. Shi held neither great respect nor disrespect towards the wanderer. It would be easier to part ways if there were no ties between them, as would inevitably happen, made easier by the fact neither man was quick to trust or particularly friendly. 

They sat in silence for some time, simply watching the goings-on of the Big Tent, and if they were paying more attention to the twin then it was their right as their teachers. 

The tent smelled of animals and sweat, stale fireflakes and fried food. They were circus smells, more familiar to him than the long left behind smell of his seaside home village, than the sick scent of battlefields and chard flesh of his short-lived army career. 

Red-and-yellow striped light caricatured Shou's sharp face when he turned to look at him, slanted brown eyes cold. “They move like soldiers,” he said gruffly. He's sweating in the humid heat of the tent, and Shi would rib him for it if it weren't for his words - 

“Soldiers? They can't be more than twelve, for Sozin's sake!” He hissed, wary of sharp ears. Always good to be aware of that, in his circus. “Is the army forcing /children/ to fight now?!” Outrage colored his voice black, cold as dead ashes. He wouldn't put it past some of the those nobles; he had no doubt that they had no problem putting two innocent kids on the battlefield as long as it kept their asses off it. 

Shou shrugged, eyes shadowed by a stripe of deep red. “Not unlikely – a pair of prodigies like them? Someone took interest, most likely, trained 'em up good so that they could hand 'em over to the army for the prestige of bringing up two Commanders. Not so uncommon, in the bigger cities, for poorer families to do something like that. Give 'em up, get paid for 'em, and the kids – well, no one much cares about them, but usually they get treated pretty well.” His face was cold. 

The ringleader wondered if someone did that to him. If he was one of the 'unusual' circumstances.

Their silence was heavy now, no less comfortable but edging on breaking anyways. Questions hung between them, unspoken because they had no answer. 

Shi summed it up very neatly: “Damn.” 

\- - 

_Two nightingales_  
Claw hot blood from our cold home  
An island of ash

\- - 

Around the campfire, while the Fire Lily is between villages, the Carnies told stories. 

Some were truth, others fictions. The best fell between the two. 

The pine trees loomed like giants around their camp, an impenetrable dark that unsettled Yasu, though he can tell Minori felt at home. Firelight flickered red-gold across once familiar faces, shadows making monsters of men. Even Mina, whose face was nearly as familiar to him as his sister's, was made strange by the light cast. 

It was almost quiet as they waited for another story to be told. Zoar and Toar – twin trapeze-ists who's favorite trick was lighting their net on fire – nudged Yalu, hooting at him to tell them his story. 

“C'mon, kid, gotta be a good'un behind that scar a' yers,” someone called from the shadows, “Sher's ugly enough!” 

Startled, Yasu mumbled “I don't – I can't -” and looked desperately for Shi. The ringleader would stop this. 

Shi just looked expectantly at him, smiling. 

Yasu couldn't see a way out. He didn't want to disappoint them by lying to them, but he didn't want them to start asking more questions than necessary, either. Minori's and his survival hinged on being invisible – and, as much as it hurt, it was easier to give in. “Okay.” 

He stared into the fire, unwilling to look anyone, especially Minori, in the eye. He reached out with his bending, felt it's heartbeat, matched it with his own. His uncle had – he'd been taught this after he bent for the first time, to meditate and calm him. It didn't much help. 

“This – is not a happy story.” He threaded his fingers through Minori's. “My father was... strict. He had certain expectations for us, because of who our family was. And he demanded they be met. Perfection in everything we did, calligraphy, music bending, everything.

“Mistakes had consequences. He never hurt us, or anything. He needed to make sure that we could take up the family duties when the time came.” He took a long, deep breath, and the flames rose with the rise and fall of his chest. 

“And then I did – something horrible. I stole something. From my Grandfather. Something bad, and I didn't understand what it was.

“That night, my father called me into his office. He told me to kneel in front of his desk. He stood before me, put his hand on my face, and as I begged him to tell me what I found _wasn't true_ he lit a fireball on my face. 

“...I don't remember much after that.” 

The camp was, impossibly, silent. Not even the cricket-mice cheeped. 

 

\- - 

 

They don't talk about what happened that night. She never blamed him, not out loud, but he did it enough for both of them. She'd – he'd – they'd both been so _angry_ at first. 

Royalty didn't stoop to the things they'd done. Royalty didn't steal, didn't lurk in dark alleys waiting for some poor guy to pass by so they could mug him. Royalty is to up hold _honor_ and _law_ and be an example to the people. 

But they had. And they would again, without a second thought, because survival was more important than pride. And they were more than their father's children. 

Sometimes, though, he would just get so angry he couldn't think, choke on every breath that whistled past clenched teeth, coiled tight as a spring trap, ready to just snap. Because it was _not fair_ , would _never_ be fair that - 

And then Minori would lay one shaking, too thin hand on his shoulder, look into his eyes with tempered gold, lend him her strength. She would hit him, the unchanging center to their storm – life, anger and sadness and a need for justice the same as him, opposites, flames so cold they soothe his own. They will fight, lean into each other, scream and cry and fall into unbreakable silences and sing their pain to the spirits that hate them both. She will dig her claws in until they both bleed, and he will do the same for her. 

Minori did not blame him for the loss of her titles, her power, her _name_. 

He knew who she does blame – and they will do more than draw blood, when the time comes. They will _end_ them. Because they are the children of dragons, and that was their right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too sure about Yasu's cover story, but I've re-written it, like, six times, and I couldn't find a better way of putting it. 
> 
> Tell me what you think (good, bad, never pick up a pen again, you are a beautiful/horrible poet... squeals of delight? :)) or any mistakes I made! :33

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly likely going to be a series of loosely connected snippets of this 'verse, hopefully in a somewhat cohesive manner. 
> 
> Read and review :33


End file.
